


What Do Sick Teenagers Do?

by natasha_alianovna_romanoff



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Precious Peter Parker, Sick Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, as soon as i learn how to tag, idk how to tag pls help, pure fluff, they're such curies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 04:45:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14825492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natasha_alianovna_romanoff/pseuds/natasha_alianovna_romanoff
Summary: When Peter gets suddenly ill at school and May is out of the city for work, his teachers don't know what to do with him. Tony is sure they handled it wrong. But how do you handle a sick teenager?Basically the classic sick Peter trope with lots of irondad and poor Peter being completely out of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!! This is my first ever marvel fic and I'm so excited! I was meaning to write some Peter angst but the closest I got was some cute irondad fluff with a sick Peter. I posted this on tumblr first and people seemed to like it, so here it is! Hope you enjoy!

“I need my teammate to be functional by Sunday. We have a competition. Do you think he’s capable?”

The school nurse looked up as MJ barged into the small office, dragging Peter behind her. She pushed Peter down onto a chair and walked straight back out of the room, not waiting for an answer.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind her, Peter was stumbling to his feet. “I'm fine, I swear. She's just being dramatic.” He tried to smile but he suspected it came out wobbly. The nurse looked at him, worry clear on her face, but she only raised an eyebrow when he fell right back down into the chair. So yeah, maybe he was a little unsteady on his feet. But he was _fine._

“I'm not sure what your definition of fine is, but I don't think it matches mine. Now let's get you checked out.”

“No, no, don't worry, I can-”

She pushed him back down into the chair, her cold hand on his shoulder a relief to his burning body.

Right at that moment the door flew open again. MJ’s head popped in. “Oh, by the way, he might try to tell you he's fine. Don't let him leave. You can remind him that if he's sick on Sunday and I'm forced to deal with Flash I won't hesitate to cut him from the team out of spite.”

She was gone before he could reply, but he mumbled something about how she would always be stuck with Flash without him. Talking was exhausting though, and he slouched down further in his chair.

The next ten minutes or so seemed to drag on, but at the same time, Peter was hardly aware of the concept of time in this state. He gave his name and felt cool hands feel his forehead, press a cup into his hands. He vaguely recalled the nurse asking if he wanted to call his parents to come get him.

“No parents…” he mumbled, but even he barely understood the muffled sound that came out instead. Every motion was just so exhausting. And he was shivering, yet the blanket the nurse had given him made him feel like he was suffocating.

What even was the point of superpowers if they didn't protect you from a simple flu?

He was aware of the nurse sitting down at her computer, pulling up his file, typing a number into her phone. He even heard the call go to voicemail, and he started when he heard Aunt May’s voice.

She was calling someone to come get him. Right. He was very out of it.

“Seems like your aunt is not answering our calls.”

“Work. Washington.”

“Oh, is she out of the city for work?” She interpreted his answering grunt and strange head bobbing (which cost him more energy than he would ever admit) however she wanted and sat back down at her desk. After a few more seconds of silence she spoke again: “Wait, I've found a second file. Must have been handed in separately. Oh. _Oh_. I'll be… I'll be right back.”

Peter hummed in acknowledgement, glad to have the room to himself for a little while. The nurse was nice, and her cool hands and wet towels were a blessing to his flushed skin, but he had a bursting headache he would rather nurse in silence.

His eyelids drooped closed, but his other senses kept screaming: the persistent humming of a computer, the prickle of a blanket rubbing against his flushed skin, the smell of lunch being served halfway across the school making his stomach lurch.

“We've got nobody to pick him up, might as well let him sleep. It'll do him good. I promise I will come get you as soon as he wakes, sir.” The nurse was back. He tried to pry his eyes open, see who she was speaking to, protest that he wasn’t asleep. But apparently he lacked the strength to do even that. How was anyone ever supposed to believe he was the same kid who had caught a car driving at 40 mph? He wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

“Thank you, Emily. I have a lot to discuss with him. I don't understand why he would do it. He is such a good boy.” Huh? Principal Morita’s voice, which wasn’t too strange – they were at school after all. But what was he saying? Peter wasn’t even sure he had heard him at all, his brain a mushy mess of white noise. And that _freaking_ computer wouldn’t stop humming!

“I'm sure he is, sir. Now I think it is best to let him rest.”

The voices finally ceased and Peter let himself to drift off into a fitful sleep.

* * *

“Listen, Peter, I'm not saying your internship is not real, but even if you _have_ met Tony Stark,” – and he was making it pretty clear that he didn’t believe Peter had – “that doesn't give you the right to put him down as emergency contact. You can't do something like that just because of a fanboy fantasy. Mr Stark is a real person, with real responsibilities. How do you think he would feel if he got a call from schools across America every few minutes because a starstruck kid put him as an emergency contact? Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that's not even mentioning the fact that you must have faked your aunt’s signature to get the file past us! That is very serious, Peter. Out in the real world, that's a crime, and here in school it seriously damages your trustworthiness. I'm sorry, but I'm going to be forced to give you two weeks of detention for that, as soon as you're better of course. And I will have to speak with your aunt about this.”

Mr Morita went on about consequences and honesty, but Peter was drifting again. He knew that if he hadn't been so out of it he might have been mad. Or starstruck. He hasn't known Mr Stark was his emergency contact, and it was a great honour. But if he didn't know, how could any of this be his fault?

What was definitely his fault was the vomit that covered the principal’s floor a second later. And it smelled _gross_. He dry heaved some more before his strength left him.

 _Finally_. Some rest.

* * *

Everything from the moment he had gagged at the overwhelmingly disgusting smell, taste, _feel_ of his own vomit, to when he stumbled into the compound’s lobby was nothing more than a blur in Peter’s memory. He knew someone had dragged him out of the office back to the nurse, remembered Ned and the school’s parking and a car. Happy’s car. A few threats about throwing up in the backseat and multiple concerned looks barely concealed below a frown. And a call.

“…not feeling well… yeah, no, definitely not…. Umm, let me ask. Kid, how bad on a scale of 1 to 10? …how bad is no answer? Just be ready.”

The call must have been to Tony, because Mr Stark was waiting for them, arms crossed with a worried look etched onto his face. It was strange. Peter had gotten used to the man expressing his worry more as anger, and even thought himself quite good at reading all Mr Stark’s different types of anger.

“FRIDAY, start looking up drugs that might actually affect a teenager with enhanced metabolism.”

“On it, boss.”

The trip from the car over to Mr Stark had been too exhausting for Peter, and he collapsed against the older man. He was surprised Mr Stark barely stumbled; his limbs felt as if they weighed tonnes. Tony’s arms went around Peter carefully, as if not sure whether to hug him closer or hold him further away.

“’M fine, Mr Stark. Don’t have to worry. Can go to the labs.”

“Right, kiddo. I’m sure you’re fine.”

Peter was glad Mr Stark believed him when no one else had, so of course his legs gave out that very moment. He looked up at Mr Stark from where he lay on the floor. The man had his arms crossed again and Peter was beginning to realise he probably didn’t quite believe Peter was 100% fine, and was rather waiting for an explanation. He sighed and lifted a hand up to his head. “It hurts.”

All the reaction he got was a quick nod before Mr Stark turned to Happy who had been watching from a few metres away. “He’s not making it upstairs himself, is he?” When the bodyguard shook his head, Mr Stark sighed. “Okay, but I’m not carrying that backpack. It looks like it weighs more than the kid himself.”

With that, the billionaire bent down to sweep up Peter into his arms. He hung limp in Tony’s arms before another sigh and his hands being draped over his mentor’s neck. Peter’s head founds its place in the crook of his neck.

“’M fine, really.”

“Shut up before I drop you.”

Peter could see Happy grin behind them, Peter’s school bag hanging from one shoulder the way May always told him would give him back problems.

* * *

Peter felt like all he was doing today was falling asleep and then waking up again. This time he woke up to fingers combing through his curls and massaging his scalp. Just like Aunt May always did when he was sick. He relaxed into the touch and-

And froze. Those were definitely not his aunt’s hands. They were big and rough and a little awkward as they ruffled his hair.

He jumped upright, which was probably not the best decision as his head started spinning immediately. When he managed to blink away the dark spots he noticed Tony Stark sitting next to the sofa he had been sleeping on. Amusement, confusion and worry all seemed to be battling on Mr Stark’s face.

Peter noticed his hand that had unconsciously reached for his head at the same time Tony did. “I’m sorry. I just- I called your aunt and she told me that playing with your hair always seems to relax you when you’re sick. Thought it might be worth a try. I hope I didn’t wake you. Oh, and, umm…” Mr Stark turned around to grab something and handed Peter a steaming bowl. Chicken soup. Apparently Aunt May had shared some more of her tricks for dealing with a sick teenager. Peter’s stomach was begging for food since he had thrown up everything he had managed to eat earlier that day. He thanked Tony quickly before wolfing down the soup.

Tony watched him eat and waited for him to finish before speaking again. “Hey kid, tell me, why didn’t you call? I can’t imagine you were actually functional at school from what I’ve seen. Aren’t they supposed to let you go home?”

“They need permission and May didn’t answer.” He decided against telling Mr Stark about the conversation he had had with Principal Morita.

“Right, right, I know that. How come I didn’t get a call then, huh? May swore she would put me down as emergency contact.” Peter felt Mr Stark searching his face, but he refused to meet his eyes or answer the question. “Peter?” Gentle hands forced Peter to look up and into Tony’s eyes.

“They didn’t want to bother you? I mean, neither did I.”

Tony’s expression was definitely annoyed now. “We’ve been over this kid. You’re not annoying to me. Well, not if it’s about you being in trouble or really needing me.”

Peter tried to stay silent, but he felt the weight off Tony’s stare and knew he’d crack eventually. He sighed and tried one last time to avoid the truth. “You asked to be put as an emergency contact? Wow, Mr Stark, that’s so cool, thank you. Wait till Ned-” A stern look confirmed that the change of topic wasn’t helping. “Yeah okay. Fine. Mr Morita didn’t believe it was real. Thought I had done it to… I don’t know, get your attention? Said there must be thousands who do that.”

Tony’s eyes had grown bigger and an anger was clearly visible in them. Peter didn’t understand; Mr Stark must have seen it coming.

“That son of a bitch. And he thought what, that May would just sign whatever you pushed in front of her nose? That she would find it funny to support your so-called fanboy fantasies? What the fuck?"

Peter swallowed. “Yeah, see… not quite. They think I forged the signature. Which is a felony of course. Oh no, don’t look at me like that! I’ll just get a few weeks of detention! I’m sorry.”

Mr Stark stood up abruptly and paced around the room. “FRIDAY, call Midtown High. And kid, don’t you dare fucking apologise.”

Suddenly Peter was also scrambling to get up. He threw himself at Tony, and clung to him desperately as he realised how dizzy the sudden movement had made him. Not his brightest decision, but he was panicking. He begged Mr Stark not to call the school. He would deal with it later, because he really didn’t feel like detention and MJ would kill him if he missed Decathlon practice for it. But he didn’t need a pissed off Mr Stark swearing at his principal. As awe inspiring as it would be, it probably wouldn’t leave the best impression.

When Mr Stark didn’t immediately agree, Peter’s body reacted on autopilot. Or he was just still very sick and weak and it was a total coincidence. Either way, Peter’s legs gave out that second. With a sigh Mr Stark cancelled the call and half dragged, half carried Peter back to the sofa. He stood above Peter awkwardly for a few seconds before sitting back down.

“So, what do you want to do? Any movie you want to see or… I’m sorry, May didn’t give any further instructions. What do sick teenagers do?”

Strong hands pushed Peter back down onto the sofa as he tried to get up. Tony sent him a stern look that seemed to say _stay and stop causing me trouble_. “I don’t need a movie, you don’t have to make such an effort for me, seriously. I have a chemistry test tomorrow anyway, I just need my bag-”

“You were going to try to carry that backpack filled with bricks over here? You may have super strength but you can barely stand right now. I’m not sure how you were planning to do that. Anyway, you’re staying right here on the sofa.” He gave Peter a final shove so he fell back onto the sofa. A raised eyebrow dared him to try get up again.

“But I’ve got homework!” Peter protested.

“And I’ve told you before that that’s not a good excuse.”

“Actually you just ignored it.”

“That works too. You should try doing that once as well, ignore your homework that is. Actually no, forget I said that. Your aunt would kill me.” Tony got up and instead sat himself in the sofa next to Peter. He instructed FRIDAY to flip through tv channels. “What’s the test on?”

“Electrolysis. It’s not too hard but there’s a few things I still need to memorise.”

“Cute of you to assume you’ll be in school tomorrow to do the test anyway. But we could watch some educational video if you really want. How about Bill Nye?” Tony smirked.

Peter looked torn. He didn’t want to disagree with Mr Stark and as a science kid he kind of felt obligated to love Bill Nye as much as all his teachers clearly did, but at the same time he’d also seen every single episode at least three times. “You know, I’m sure Star Wars would be just as educational.”

“Are you questioning the educational value of Bill Nye the Science Guy?” Tony said with mock rage. But a second later FRIDAY was loading the Empire Strikes Back onto the huge screen in front of them.

Not that it mattered, because within ten minutes Peter was back to sleeping through the fever and Tony was reaching for the phone.

“FRIDAY, call Midtown High.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked that! Some people have asked for a second part to see the phone call and I'm definitely considering it. Let me know if you would like that
> 
> EDIT: I'm definitely writing that phone call!! So many people have asked for it, it's gotten me excited about writing more. It might take a little while though as I'm in the middle of exams and have a few things going on, but I'm definitely working on it!
> 
> I would love to hear from you in the comments, and if you have any prompts or ideas you can leave those there too. Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated and make my day.
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr! @natasha-alianovna-romanoff for marvel, same as here


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO FINALLY WROTE A SECOND PART!!  
> That's right, I did it, only 10 months late! I'm so sorry for all of you who waited, but I'm even more thankful that you stuck around. I honestly would not have been able to do this without your comments. A few days ago I just sat down and read them all, and suddenly I was writing.  
> Someone even said I got Tony's characterisation spot on and that has been the single biggest compliment I've gotten. It even gave me the courage to write this in Tony's POV, which allowed me to write the chapter like I wanted to. I hope it doesn't disappoint!  
> Enjoy!!  
> (Also this is so self indulgent I hope others can enjoy it as well)

“How the  _ fuck _ did you think the kid got my number? Huh? You think that kind of information is public knowledge?” There seemed to be a lot of stuttering on the other end of the line. “ _ Did you even think any of this through _ ?” Tony was hissing now in an effort to keep from shouting and waking Peter. He had worried it would undermine his anger, but as it turned out he quite enjoyed the threatening edge it gave his voice. 

Morita stuttered and spluttered, Tony only half listening to his lies. His anger was making him restless, and he could feel recklessness building up. A quick glance at the sofa where Peter rested was enough to reign it in a little, and he focused the rest of his energy on the project in front of him. He had been fiddling with the wires and gears since the beginning of the phone call, preferring the work over the endless blabbering he was bound to write off as lies anyway.

Even so, Tony could not resist the telling off Morita deserved, and he made damn sure he kept the upper hand in the conversation, not a shred of forgiveness in his voice. And once his little project was finished and working flawlessly, he had nowhere else to direct his energy at. Suddenly Morita’s voice sounded twice as harsh and his whine ten times as unbearable.

“Who I decide to treat as my son is absolutely none of your concern, and all I require from your frighteningly simple mind is a little cooperation!” Okay, so he had definitely failed to keep his voice down on that one. He risked a quick glance at the sofa and cursed. A yawning Peter, still blinking the sleep from his eyes, was staring right back at him. 

“Mr Stark?” His voice was rough from sleep, but the sound was a lot clearer now than before, and a quick check in with FRIDAY confirmed Peter’s fever was dropping. A quick breath of relief momentary calmed Tony’s anger.

Morita’s voice in his ear, still stumbling over apologies and excuses, called his temper back just as quickly. 

“That’s all the time I had for you today, and I must say, the pleasure was definitely all yours,” Tony interrupted, talking over the principal, absolutely no interest in what he was still lamenting on about. A sharp gesture signaled to FRIDAY to cut off the call without waiting for a response. 

Anger still coursed through him though, and Tony was conscious of the way he was clenching and unclenching his hands. In a few steps he stood behind the sofa Peter now sat up in, and he busied himself by checking the boy’s temperature, a hand against his forehead, even though FRIDAY had given him an exact number only seconds earlier. It busied his hands, calmed his mind. When he was done he moved one hand to Peter’s hair and rubbed soft circles into his scalp like May had instructed. This time it definitely helped Tony just as much - if not more - than it helped Peter.

Tony looked down at Peter, who seemed to be battling something in his mind. He kept opening and closing his mouth as if wanting to say something. Tony waited him out until Peter finally found his words. “Did you- ah nevermind.” 

Okay, so  _ almost _ found his words.

“Spit it out, kid,” he sighed. Peter was probably just going to whine about Tony going behind his back to call the school, but he had to be sure just in case the kid actually needed something. He wasn’t going to be like that damn principal, ignoring what Peter had to say. And if he  _ was  _ going to whine, it would give Tony the opening he needed to launch into his stop-being-so-self-sacrificing-and-learn-to-stand-up-for-yourself speech, which he had already rehearsed anyway. 

“No, it’s okay, it’s really nothing, Mr Stark.” A stern look had Peter turn all red to the tips of his ears before he began stumbling over his words again. “Ah- Um-  _ Did you just call me your son _ ?” 

That was most definitely not what he had said, but Tony could almost feel himself get flustered for the first time in… well, a while. 

_ Almost _ . Instead, he cocked an eyebrow at the kid. 

Peter immediately started blabbering again, apologising for overstepping, for listening in, for mishearing, and Tony even thought he heard an apology for being sick somewhere in that endless string of words.  _ This kid.  _ If he hadn’t been sick, Tony was convinced he would be shaking Peter right now, maybe even throwing a glass of cold water over him for good measure. 

Tony had to speak over the boy to cut him off. “I didn’t call you my son. I said I treated you  _ like _ a son.”

A little “ _ oh”  _ escaped Peter, before the room lapsed into sudden silence. The kid was fidgeting with the fray of his shirt now, and Tony pushed down the urge to go over and steady Peter’s hands in an effort to calm him. Peter probably wouldn’t like to be babied like that. Probably being the key word, because what did Tony really know about teenagers?

When the silence lasted half a second too long to be comfortable Tony forced on a trademark smirk, and spoke in his typically amused tone. “Now, before you get to excited, all that means is-”

He cut off with a grunt as Peter launched himself at Tony for a hug, then promptly fell as his legs gave way before Tony could catch him. Tony looked down at the puddle of a boy sprawled at his feet for a second before leaning down to pick him up, a soft smile and a worried frown battling it out on his face, no doubt. 

A huff escaped him as he lifted Peter up into his arms for the second time that day. “God, kid. Is this just an elaborate scheme to get me to carry you everywhere? Don’t you have some kind of superhuman stamina? Or is this just your way of finally getting your hug? Because if it is, let me make it very clear: this is not equivalent to a hug,” he grunted as he lugged the teenager back to the sofa. 

Peter immediately began spluttering again and a blush rose on his cheeks. Tony cursed silently at the hurt he had inadvertently caused with his careless joke.

“No, listen to me. If I were to hug you, kiddo, you would know.”

That shut the boy up. Tony couldn’t resist a laugh and another quick hair ruffle -  _ fuck _ , the boy’s hair was soft. But it also reminded him of the other tip May had given him: soup. He turned around, scanning the room for wherever he had abandoned his little project. Once he located it, he placed it right in front of Peter’s face.

“This,” Tony gestured to the little robot standing between them, “is Soupport.” Tony suppressed a smile as Peter nodded solemnly, looking for all the world as if he were about to shake the robot’s hand. “Soupport will be your personal bot for as long as you are being held here on sick leave.”

Peter’s eyes went impossibly wide in excitement and awe. He kept looking from Tony to the robot, his energy suddenly back. Tony gave the boy some time to calm down, because by now he had enough experience with teenagers - or, well, Peter - to know that once he was like this, only something more exciting would register in Peter’s brain. The way he was looking at this robot, the only thing more exciting right now would be a meeting with the Avengers. 

Once Peter seemed to have finished internally squealing, Tony moved on. “Now, a list of things Soupport can and will do for you: make soup, take your temperature, and alert me of any changes in your condition. What Soupport cannot do: any type of physical activity so don’t even think about getting out of this sofa, quiz you on chemistry - which you won’t need since you’re not going to school tomorrow anyway,” here Tony was forced to silence Peter with a quick hand gesture, “or any other type of activity which is off bounds to a sick teenager. I’m sure you can figure out what is and what is not acceptable if you use some common sense.”

Peter nodded sagely at this, his fingers already fluttering over all of Soupport’s buttons. Tony frowned, wondering whether the teen had even registered a word of what he had said since “ _ personal bot _ ”. With gentle hands he forced Peter to look into his eyes, making sure he could hold his attention for a few more seconds.

“He is also equipped with the ability to follow you around, so if you are stupid enough to think you’re  _ fine _ ,” here he let his voice go sluggish and slow, imitating Peter’s earlier attempts to prove that he was  _ fine _ , “he will serve as a reminder that you are most definitely not, and will keep offering you soup until both FRIDAY and I sign off on your health. Understand? Oh and quick tip: New Yorkers are used to a lot, but that does not include a robot balancing trays of soup swinging after a Spider-Kid.”

“He can  _ swing _ ?”

“No, of course not! That would send a message of me  _ encouraging _ you to swing around sick which is exactly what I’m trying to tell you not to do!”

“Right, right.” Peter grinned wickedly, which Tony took as a clear sign that he must still have a raging fever, because the boy had never been anything but shy and admiring around him before. Tony grinned right back until he heard Peter’s next words. “Just out of curiosity, how do you think New Yorkers would react to a robot balancing trays of soup just  _ running  _ after a  _ regular  _ kid?”

“I think you should start considering how you would react to being locked in this room with only me and Soupport for company, at least five blankets piled on you at all times, hourly medical check ups with FRIDAY, no Spider-Man whatsoever, for, let’s say, two weeks.”

Peter actually flinched at that. “Um, that sounds lovely and all, Mr Stark - well except for the Spider-Man part-” he frowned a little, “-but I have a competition for AcaDec on Sunday that I absolutely cannot miss. If I do, I don’t think even you or this super secure penthouse could keep me safe from our captain’s wrath.” He gazed out in front of him absentmindedly for a second, as if imagining how the world would come to an end if he missed this competition. Then he seemed to suddenly hear what he had said. “Not that there’s anything you couldn’t stop, sir, Mr Stark. You’re like, the most powerful person on this planet. I was exaggerating. Obviously.” 

There was something in Peter's tone at that last word that made Tony take a long look at the boy. “Obviously,” he echoed. “So you'd better not be plotting how to get past me - the most powerful person on this planet - to your backpack so you can actually willingly do homework.” Tony shook his head, mostly to disguise the silent laughter shaking through his body. “I will absolutely never understand you.”

“How about we make a deal?” It took all Tony's self control not to even smile at the determination on Peter's face. It was hopelessly endearing, but the boy obviously meant it seriously, and Tony would not belittle him. He had promised that to himself when he'd realised how many people would try to keep Peter from his suit once they learnt his age, even though he had frequently proven himself capable, and did the job with more excitement and passion than anyone else. 

Tony nodded at Peter to lay out his proposition. 

“So, if I stay home tomorrow-”

“The rest of the week, that's non-negotiable.”

“-then you will let me study for Academic Decathlon now,” Peter finished unfazed. He leveled a challenging look at Tony, daring him to disagree. 

Tony sat himself down opposite Peter, on the coffee table. He crossed his legs and folded his arms, his typical business pose. “You don't have much leverage here kid, you're not going to school anyway,” he pointed out.

Peter spluttered at the unfairness of that. Tony stayed silent, waiting. It didn't take long for Peter to dive back into negotiations. “Okay so you might be able to keep me from school, but we both know you can't keep me from being Spider-Man.” Tony acknowledged this with a short nod, though he was sure to make the disapproval evident on his face. “So I  _ promise  _ you, no Spider-Man until after the Academic Decathlon. Oh also, part of the deal is that I get to go to that, obviously.” 

Better. An idea came to Tony. “Is Morita going to be there?”

The sudden change in topic threw Peter off. “Umm… maybe? He’s come to watch a few times since the championship.”

“Interesting. My terms are: you have the freedom to do what you want - which for some inexplicable reason seems to be to study - as long as you don't leaving the penthouse without my permission until Sunday,  _ and _ I get to come to your competition.” And wear a flashy suit so everyone  _ including Morita _ would know he was there.

Tony reached out his hand to shake on it, but Peter ignored it. “No leaving until FRIDAY deems me fit enough, not Sunday. That would be at 80% of my normal health. Still no school or Spider-Man, obviously.”

Impressive. “Make that 90% and you have a deal.”

“Deal.”

Tony shook Peter's outstretched hand and chuckled lightly. “You're not entirely bad at this.” Indignation and pride battled it out on Peter's face. “See, you don't need to go to school, you learn more from me anyway. So, how do you study for a competition?”

“Well I have flashcards in-”

Tony was already up, mumbling something along the lines of “ _of course you do_ ” as he rummaged through Peter’s backpack. He couldn't find any flashcards though, as half the backpack was taken up by a shoe box and the rest was obscured from view by the Spider-Man suit. He pulled out the suit and dumped it to the side, but when he attempted to do the same to the box he was stopped short by the unexpected weight. The thing weighed a _ton._ Led on by curiosity he heaved the box out of the bag, and cautiously lifted the lid up. Who knew what Peter had stowed away.

As it turned out, Tony  _ had _ found the flashcards. A whole box packed absolutely full, everything in neat stacks representing categories, held together with rubber bands. The categories were probably organised alphabetically as well, but Tony was too afraid to check. 

He carried the box back to the sofa and dropped it onto the coffee table with a loud thunk. He raised an eyebrow at Peter as he dropped down next to him in the sofa, simultaneously scanning the categories at the top of the box.  _ Definitely alphabetical.  _

Tony smiled wickedly as one category caught his eye. He picked it up and started sifting through the question. “Alright, kiddo, show me what you’ve got. Category: Avengers.” Peter snorted. “Question: What is most commonly regarded as the deciding factor in the battle between Iron Man and Iron Monger?”

The answer came immediately, absolutely no hesitation in his voice. “The arc reactor.”

“Wrong.” Tony was half proud that he had found a question Peter couldn't answer, and a little disappointed. “The deciding factor was Pepper.”

“It's correct! You haven't even checked the back of the flashcard.”

“I was there, kid, I don't need to check the answer.” He did though, and frowned when he saw the answer. “Also, your flashcard is wrong. It was most definitely Pepper.”

“It's not, Mr Stark. It's a past question, I took the answer right from the official website.” Peter continued pointing out how he was right, how the question asked what was “most commonly regarded as the deciding factor”, and that Tony did not usually conform to the “most common” opinion. Tony grumbled, acting offended and mumbling about doing better research. Peter shrugged. 

“Maybe I should give them a call as well…”

Peter shot him a look of pure horror. Tony laughed and reached out to ruffle his hair. As he did, he pulled Peter towards himself, enveloping him in his arms and pressing a gentle kiss to the boy's curls. 

“Um, Mr Stark? This is a hug, right?”

He couldn't help but laugh. “Yes, Pete, it is.” His laugh softened into a smile as he felt Peter's hands curl around his shoulders and hold on to him tightly. 

“You give good hugs.” The sound was muffled against his neck.

“I know. But if I get sick from this I'm keeping Soupport for myself, and we're leaving you here to recover alone.”

But for all his snark, he didn't let go. He held on tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked that! I'm so excited to finally be able to share the end of this story with you.
> 
> My holidays are ending in two days but I have an idea for my favourite Peter trope (field trips!) and I hope I will start working on it soon!
> 
> I would love to hear from you in the comments, and if you have any prompts or ideas you can leave those there too. Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated and make my day.
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr! @natasha-alianovna-romanoff for marvel, same as here


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